


Right Before My Eyes

by TheBurningNight



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Christmas, End of the World, Goodbyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBurningNight/pseuds/TheBurningNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the world. And this time, it's not anything Valkyrie can stop. She isn't used to being this powerless. Sometimes, hope can't be found, not matter how much you need it. Title based of the Cage the Elephant song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Before My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> “Golden needles, names we take in vain  
> Find it harder to remain  
> Nothing sacred  
> Still waiting on that explanation”  
> -Cage The Elephant, Right Before My Eyes

The world is breaking.

She doesn’t know how, and she doesn’t know why, but she knows that the very fabric of humanity is splitting apart, and half the humans in the street don’t even know it. Valkyrie finds that the snow could conceal just as much. Dusting off the world in all its ridiculous glory, hiding all those ugly shadows that scared Haggard.

It is raining now, in large sheets that hit the window with vigour, making Alice cry and cry and cry and just _not shut up_. She has a hot chocolate curled in her hands and is dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, which feels odd and _loose_ because they aren’t her fighting gear. She refuses to wear any article of her Bespoke clothes in the presence of her family. Because there were two clear divisions in her life. Family and Skulduggery. And she wasn’t in any hurry to amalgamate them.

But what was coming, the storm that was brewing in the dark night sky, was crushing all sides of everything together. It was a massive magic and suburbia cocktail, and there is nothing Valkyrie or anyone else can do about it.  Not even Skulduggery, who was the foolish hero who can always stop the earth from cracking. No, he isn’t out in the eye of the storm, cocking his gun and pulling out teeth, he is at home, sitting on his decaying couch, watching the world end through his misty window. That, out of everything, extinguishes every single spark of hope that Valkyrie could have. That had carried her home, carved a smile in her face, hugged her Mum and Dad and blew a raspberry on her baby sister’s stomach. Because all she can do is spend her last moments with the people she loves more than _anything_.

Alice is still crying. And there is a crow that keeps swooping her window. There are cars and Christmas lights and kids out in gumboots. But how can it be? The cruellest illusion, making the world _keep moving_ in its own destruction.

Valkyrie looks out the window, at the rain that is still falling, and then pulls her phone out of her pocket. The screen has a massive crack in it from when she was fighting a rouge sorcerer in Bangcock and fallen onto her leg. Skulduggery still refused to get it fixed.  That makes her smile, that small imperfection, but it soon disappears in the face of what she about to do.

She hates to admit it, but she knows the number off by heart.

There is ringing, which she expects, that dull drone that she has no idea why she has to be subjected to it, but that is followed by a surprisingly tender, _“Hello?”_ which she doesn’t.

“Hey, Fletch.” Her tone of voice makes her flinch.

“Val? Wow. Wasn’t expecting you.” She can hear the sound of something hissing in the background, then something muffling it.

Then there is an awkward pause and Valkyrie does not appreciate it.

She swallows, “Are you...are you _cooking_?”

“Well,” Comes Fletcher’s reply, then the clanking of wood scraping against metal, “It’s hardly cooking. I’m burning baked beans if that’s what you’re asking.”

That spreads the smile back onto her face. Because Fletcher may be annoying, and he may be an idiot, but he was a constant when everything else isn’t. He kept her tethered to the ground so she wouldn’t float out into the path of the sun. It is nice to have someone like that when her life is constantly burning out.

“So...” Fletcher drags out the word, “Is there any reason you called or...?”

_Oh bollocks._

“Well,” She says in the tone of voice that someone uses when they don’t necessarily know how their sentence is going to end, “Uh, you see, um...merry Christmas?”

There is a _looooong paaauuuuse_ and then, “You rang me up to wish me a merry Christmas?”

“Very merry Christmas?”

Fletcher’s laugh conjures up static. “Merry Christmas to you too, I guess.”

Valkyrie can hear Fletcher’s television in the background, blasting out some show or another. She figures that, because of this, Fletcher can probably hear Alice wailing in the background. She looks over at her baby sister, who is entrapped in her highchair with spaghetti all over her mouth, thinks about getting up to retrieve her dummy from the depths of the living room, and then decides against it.

“Are you doing anything? For Christmas, I mean.”  She doesn’t know what is making her prolong this conversation, but she can’t really bring herself to search for an answer because _the world was ending_ and doing what makes her feel slightly better about this fact seems like a pretty decent path to take.

“Nah. I might go down to the pub a bit later, you know, have a few drinks.” There is pause, brief clanging, and then, “Hang on a sec.”

 “I can manage that. Probably.”

But Fletcher doesn’t reply, presumably because he’s gone off to do whatever it is that he has to do. It is very strange, having Fletcher Renn on the other side of a phone for any prolonged period of time, without him suddenly appearing in front of you and making your two phones protest (because the idiot still couldn’t remember to turn his _off_ before he teleported). It us nice. Homely. For a while they aren’t Valkyrie Cain: destroyer of the world and Fletcher Renn: last teleporter. They are friends, chatting about something as mundane as Christmas and baked beans.

“Back. Sorry. I had to move the baked beans from the pot and into my bowl, and I needed two hands to make that a smooth transition.”

Valkyrie laughs. “You’re weird.”

There is a scoff from the phone’s speaker. “Just because I don’t have your _unnatural_ skills of coordination, doesn’t make me _weird._ ”

“Maybe,” She smiles, “But there are plenty of other things that do.”

There is a split second, between her saying that and Fletcher answering, but it is one of those stupid moments were so much _more_ is contained into it. One second of forever, where she ponders actually _telling_ Fletcher that _hey, besides it being Christmas Eve it’s also the end of the world. Merry Christmas!_ But, in the end, she couldn’t. Even when the words were nearly at her lips, she had stopped herself. Because _how could she_? How could she shatter that fragile sense of _everything is okay_ and ruin what could be his last memories of working cars and social order and laws and rules.

“If you say _anything_ about my hair I will come and strangle you.”

“Yeah,” Valkyrie says, tapping her fingers along the rim of her mug, “I don’t think that will end very well. Considering I _have_ been training to fight since I was twelve.”

“I _am_ the last teleporter in existence. That makes me extremely powerful.” She can hear Fletcher shoving beans into his mouth in between words. That is something so _untouchable_ about that that it makes her feel fragile and sinking. Like she could see the world disappearing before her very eyes.

“Doesn’t make you any better at fighting.” Her voice feels shallow, but she keeps soldiering on. She isn’t very good at it, though, this ‘pretend everything is normal’ thing. Everything she says sounds stupid and vapid, like her words don’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things.

“I could always teleport into a chainsaw store and get a chainsaw to chop of your head.”

Valkyrie rolls her eyes. “There’s no such thing as a Chainsaw Store, Fletcher.” She explains patiently.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Comes Fletcher’s reply, “Like one of those home improvement warehouses. They sell chainsaws. Massive ones.”

“I’m literately quaking. You should see me.” She waves a hand at Alice, who stops crying and gurgles happily.

“I’m sure you-“ There is a loud bang of something. Valkyrie thinks of fireworks, until she hears Fletcher breathe, “Oh shit.” Into the phone.

  1. Valkyrie thinks frantically, _No. No. No. It can’t be happening. Not now. Oh God._



“Fletcher?” She heaves into the speaker that does not seem at all adequate enough, “ _Fletcher?_ Are you okay?”

There is something muffled, like a person moving in the background, and everything was breaking and crashing and Valkyrie just wants to tape everything back into fragile existence. She can’t lose. Not like this. Not after Darquesse and Vile and The Faceless Ones and everyone she’s ever saved and everyone she’s ever not. Because when she was supposed to end the world, at least she had some control over it, some possibility to save the day. When everything was just fire and burning, she is just as lost as anyone.

“Val?” A panicked voice burst through the speaker, but the voice was familiar and reassuring, “Val?!”

“Fletcher,” She breathes through relief, “Oh God, Fletcher. Are you okay?”

She can hear the television being changed rapidly through channels, first hearing the introduction to some sort of quiz show, then to a helium charged voice, and finally to the voice of a news reporter.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice is shaking, “But, I dunno, there was thing bang, did you hear it? And I went to check what it was, and...” Fletcher trails off.

“What? Fletch, this might be important.” Her hand is going white from gripping the phone, and Alice starts crying again.

More crashing in the background. “The news is saying hallucinogenics or something. Like everyone is on acid or something. I mean, that’s stupid. I don’t think people coordinate the exact same time that they want to get off their face. And I’m not off my face and I can still see it.”

Valkyrie rolls her eyes. “Fletcher. Listen to me. You _have to tell me what’s going on_.” Now her voice is shaking. Great.

“I don’t whether I ever told you, but my new apartment is near a graveyard. Spooky right? But that stuff doesn’t happen, ghosts and all that.”

Valkyrie purses her lips and looked at her sobbing baby sister. “I suspect you have a longer attention span that him.” She tells her.

Fletcher is still speaking when she presses her ear back onto the phone. “-You of all people would know that. But, the thing is, Val. The dead,” Fletcher pauses and in a low voice mummers, “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this.” A deep breath from the other side of the phone, “The dead are walking.”

That makes her get up and _move_ because _holy hell dead people aren’t so dead anymore._ She nearly trips getting to the window, but she manages to shakily pull back the curtain and squint into the dark.

Nothing. A light in someone’s window, a few bearded men wobbling back from the pub. But nothing. Just the darkness.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” She whispers, looking for _anything_ that might be a clue to the freaking end of the world.

“I know that.”

Fletcher’s voice startles her, but then it reminds her.

“Fletch,” She grinds out from her throat, drawing the curtain closed as she does so. “Stay calm. That sounds stupid, I know, but hear me out.” Another breath. “That stuff happening, it’s real. All of it. It looks ridiculous, but its there.”

A pause and then, “Can’t you do something about it? You and Skulduggery? That’s your thing, isn’t it? Saving the day?”

She tries to ignore how strangled his voice sounds. Like she was his last hope, that final bullet in the chamber, like she could make it better.

“Not this time, Fletch. I’m sorry.” 

Something crashes from the other line.

“How do you stop them?” His voice is hallow.

She brings a hand to her hair, pulls it, and tries to _just keep breathing._ “I don’t know _, okay?_ Just teleport and get out of there.”

There is a bigger crash, like the sound of glass breaking. She waits for the noise to subside so she can hear Fletcher’s reply.

And waits.

_And_ waits.

“Fletcher?” She held the word to her chest, “ _Fletcher?”_

But there is no reply.

It’s funny, how years of toughening up her exterior protected her from knives and bullets and magic, but how it left what was inside surprisingly doughy. But she _can’t be._ How can’t she? Because that is _Fletcher_ and she is _Valkyrie_ and nothing is ever going to be normal, not now, because the tornado has hit, she isn’t in Kansas anymore and the whole earth is shaking.

She does the only thing she remembers how.

“Skulduggery,” She utters into the phone when the line picks up, “ _Skulduggery._ It’s happening.”

In reality she doesn’t have to say that. Her voice gives everything away, but she has to tell someone, she has to shout it from some rooftop, and Skulduggery has always understood her. Skulduggery is safe.

“I know,” He replies and it doesn’t sound like Skulduggery anymore.

“What do we do?”

There’s a long silence. “We do nothing.”

She swallows. “We never do nothing.”

He sighs, and if she closes her eyes she can pretend that he is real, with flesh and blood and eyes that look at her and tell her that _everything will be alright._

“Valkyrie,” He says, and it isn’t the Skulduggery that she believes in. It’s the one that lost so much, that was broken and destroyed and hopeless. The one that shattered. Not the one who gets up again. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

She tries to breathe in, tries to make the world get back together again, but it doesn’t work. Because Skulduggery, the one person whom she believed in when everything else was lost, the one who always had another way, fought another battle, brought another sunrise, he had given up. Without him there is no hope. Only darkness and blood and fire.

She doesn’t realise that she is crying until she sniffs and brings a finger up to her eye. It is one of those moments where you can only cry or smile or both. There is no other way. There is no more sunshine.

She laughs ruefully into the phone, because something in her realises that this is the end, that there is no more, and the only thing left to do was say goodbye.

“We had the best of times.” She tells him.

“The very best.”

Because they had, through everything. They had met through death and sorrow and created something that was _so much more_. So much better. Something that could burn out worlds and set the universe on fire. It is something special, that friendship that they had. Something special and infinite and hopeful. They’d saved each other, dammed each other, and laughed in between. They were messed up and dark and bad but not when they were side by side, blazing in glory. They could save each other.

That is, until they couldn’t save each other anymore.

“Stay? Please. Don’t let me be alone.”

No one else understands.

He breathes, and she can hear rain hit the window, “I will never leave you.”

No one else understands.

 “Promise?” Her voice is tiny and insignificant and the loudest thing in the world.

No one else.

“Promise.”

No one else.

Except for him.


End file.
